


put the record on (wait ‘til we hear our song)

by coykoi



Series: ‘tis the season (to be jolly) [3]
Category: Spider-Man (Tom Holland Movies)
Genre: Angst, Bittersweet Ending, Decorating, F/M, More Bitter Than Sweet, Spideychelle, and I am sorry, but on the bright side ??? it’s not all sad?, i did not mean to write this, promptmas, the true spirit of the holiday season!, they are elderly okay
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-18
Updated: 2020-12-18
Packaged: 2021-03-10 20:48:12
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,873
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28153365
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/coykoi/pseuds/coykoi
Summary: “Do you want to dance?” he asks softly, as young as they were when they got married, and when Michelle looks down, she finds that she is too. His expression is inviting, his hand outstretched just for her.“I know this isn’t real,” Michelle says, her voice strained and her throat sore. She sees the way he smiles, shakes his head, and pulls her up anyway like it’s effortless.
Relationships: Michelle Jones/Peter Parker
Series: ‘tis the season (to be jolly) [3]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2061615
Comments: 28
Kudos: 47
Collections: Twelve Days of Promptmas





	put the record on (wait ‘til we hear our song)

**Author's Note:**

> oops...listen this is still promptmas because it’s the true spirit of the holiday season? get it, cause peter is—

It’s the lights of the tree that are dimly shining, the dying flames of the fireplace that are casting shadows around the living room.

Michelle brings her hands down from their place tangled between the strands, eyes crinkling around the corners as she steps back. Everything about her expression says satisfied, but her heart says it’s all wrong. 

Nothing feels the same as it had years ago, the decorations and warmth in the apartment seen in a much duller light. She should be used to it by now—enough time has passed—but it’s almost impossible when she can too easily remember what it had been like before.

She had told herself last year that it would be the last time she’d celebrate the holidays. She’d told herself that she’s getting too old for this, hair graying faster than even the clouds in the sky. It’s far past her time to be putting up garland and ornaments and lights around the room.

But it was the moment Michelle had woken up in the morning—another day still on Earth, another Christmas Eve—that she knew she couldn’t let the holidays go by just like that, not when it really might be her last chance to celebrate.

There was snow whirling past her window in flurries, coating the streets below, when the cheap plastic tree had gone up. She could feel the ache in her bones that stemmed from the prospect of decorating it alone.

It’s not the first time Michelle has celebrated Christmas for the both of them, but she has the feeling this time might just be her last.

Maybe it’s the age, the idea of knowing how close she is. It hurts more the older she gets. But this has always been their holiday, and it’s impossible to let it go by without thinking of him. 

Michelle inhales a long breath of cold air, tracing her thumb around the ring that hasn’t left her finger since day one. Almost sixty years have gone by now.

They’d had a December wedding. Of course, it hadn’t been her idea, Michelle always hating the cold and the snow, the chills that came with winter, but he had insisted that it would be fun—that it would be magical and memorable, like a fairytale. His cheesy persuasion had resonated with her.

Peter Parker, self-proclaimed wedding planner, had met her down the aisle only two days after Christmas Eve. His soft, youthful smile, still ingrained in her mind to this moment, had been brighter than the lights hanging around the venue.

The two of them had spent all of their money on the wedding that year, not having enough left over to buy each other anything. But he’d whispered in her ear with firm conviction that this was the only gift he needed, and she’d felt just a bit warmer as she stood there in the cold.

They exchanged vows with the moonlight reflecting off the snow around them, rings sliding on with ease, and then kissed underneath the mistletoe.

Absently, Michelle brings a hand to her lips as she turns around in the chilly apartment, the flames in the portable fireplace starting to die out. She begins to poke at the little coal pieces, the ache in her joints fading slightly as she warms up.

The younger years of marriage between them hadn’t been the best, Peter’s superhero life getting in the way like a giant roadblock. Most holidays she would spend with their family while he was out saving someone, saving the world. It was always the choice he made when given the option.

And while Michelle allowed herself to briefly hate him for every moment he’d chosen not to be there with them, she also allowed herself to be wrapped in his arms each time he came home, relief in her heart just because of the fact.

She knew it wasn’t easy for either of them.

But the older years had been better for their relationship, Michelle granting herself the ability to relax when Peter decided to ease up on being Spider-Man. A younger kid named Miles had taken up the gauntlet with undoubted excitement, and it gave them back the days they’d felt they were losing.

And Michelle was able to be happy for a long time.

It was only two years ago when the feeling faded, Michelle knowing that all things would have to come to an end sooner or later. The word had granted her some small kindness by making it the latter.

They had gotten nearly sixty years together, a fulfilling six decades, marrying young in their twenties and surviving old into their eighties.

In the back of her mind, Michelle always thought that Peter would be the first to go, the idea that Spider-Man would be what took him down a constant worry. But it hadn’t been Spider-Man.

The culprit was as simple as old age, the toll of life finally hitting, and she found that it hurt more this way. It hurt being able to say goodbye, to be the one to feel his fading pulse under her touch as she held his hand, his eyes closing for the final time in their home.

Eighty years couldn’t have prepared her for such a loss, but Michelle knows that it’s not the end of the world when she isn’t going to live forever either. It just means that for now, she’ll be spending the holidays alone.

Michelle takes one good look at the tree she’d set up, complete with the fading lights and the worn ornaments, before turning around. Almost on their own accord, her eyes drift to the stack of records nestled between the classic books on the shelf—a shelf she hasn’t looked at since his death. It was his collection, after all.

Hesitantly, she walks over to the shelf and looks through his old records, recalling the many he’d used in the past as an excuse to get her to dance with him. Peter had always been persistent that dancing was like a window to the past despite having two left feet himself.

Finding the well-worn Christmas album she’s so familiar with, Michelle places it on the old record player and drops the needle. The melody immediately picks up, a rendition of _Jingle Bells_ she’s heard so many times.

Closing her eyes, she sits back in a rocking chair by the fire, letting the music wrap around her like a blanket of comfort. At least, until the song switches once, twice, and then she’s struck with a tune she hasn’t been able to get out of her head for sixty years.

Peter, despite having planned a majority of their wedding, had given her the honor of choosing the song for their first dance. There was something of a theme going on—and maybe she should’ve expected it with a December wedding—so Michelle had chosen one of her favorites.

 _I’ve Got My Love to Keep Me Warm_ might not have been the most classic choice for a first dance, but Peter had said everything that she was thinking. It was perfect for them.

Michelle can feel her jaw tremble, the lyrics floating through the air with the lingering voice of Frank Sinatra. She brings a hand to her cheek, brushing a stray tear from her face as her lips mouth the words. 

It’s impossible not to remember the way they’d swayed with the snow falling around them, Peter’s hand warm in hers, holding Michelle close. It’s not what she needs to think about right now.

Prepared to stand up and take the record off, Michelle opens her eyes again and feels her breath hitch. Her heart is old, beating well past its time, but this doesn’t scare her like it should. Maybe it’s the age. Maybe it’s due to simply missing him.  


"Peter?"

“Do you want to dance?” he asks softly, as young as they were when they got married, and when Michelle looks down, she finds that she is too. His expression is inviting, his hand outstretched just for her.

“I know this isn’t real,” Michelle says, her voice strained and her throat sore. She sees the way he smiles, shakes his head, and pulls her up anyway like it’s effortless.

“Do you remember? The way you nearly ruined our first dance by slipping on ice?” Peter asks, his tone a familiar teasing sound as he wraps his arms around Michelle, and she hates that her mind is being this cruel to her. His laugh is just the same as well when she rolls her eyes.

“That was you.”

“Okay. Maybe it was me,” he murmurs, breath hitting Michelle’s cheek in wisps. His touch trails along her arm like a burning fire, palm gripping palm when he twirls her in the bare living room. “My memory isn’t what it used to be.”

Michelle scoffs out a watery laugh, a loose curl falling from behind her ear. He tucks it back into place, fingers lingering on her cheek to brush away the wetness. “Why are you here?”

“Because you want me to be.” And Peter says this in such a simple way that it makes her eyes well up.

“You must think pretty highly of yourself, huh?” she manages to joke, and he merely smiles again, kissing each of her cheeks with a practiced patience.

“When someone like you comes around and chooses a guy like me, it’s hard not to, Em. You’ve made my life.” Peter squeezes her hands, rubbing them between both of his to keep them warm. “And I miss you.”

“Stop this.” Michelle pulls out of his grip, if only to dry her eyes with her own sleeves. She’s upset and she’s angry, and her heart feels like it’s failing her. “You aren’t allowed to tell me that, Peter. Not at all.”

“I’m sorry.” His eyes shine with something unshed in the firelight, but he doesn’t reach for her again. “I’m sorry that it hurts. But don’t let yourself be alone during the holidays, Michelle.”

“And why not?”

“You know why.” His expression is significant, and Michelle could pretend that she has no idea what he’s talking about, but it’s an evident factor at this point. Even she can feel that her own internal timer is nearing its end, her heart always a stuttering thing.

How much time is left on it, she doesn’t know, but Peter must.

“Don’t leave,” Michelle finally says, blinking until her vision is clear enough to see the wry smile he’s wearing.

“I love you, Em. I always will.” Peter hesitates for a moment as the music begins dying in the background before giving her one more gentle look. She has to close her eyes, squeezes them shut. “And I’ll see you soon.”

Michelle doesn’t open her eyes until there’s dead silence again in the apartment, the needle floating above the record that’s stopped playing. Heaving a breath, she drops her head, feeling the way a tear escapes, slipping down and falling, crashing onto the ground.

It’s impossible not to feel undeniably cold in the empty apartment, Peter taking the warmth with him, and all she’s left with is the sensation of dancing with a ghost.

**Author's Note:**

> don’t look at me
> 
> @coykoii on tumblr and twitter


End file.
